


I am SNIP3R

by Dragon_Mage



Series: W3 Ar3 Al1v3 [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Death, They aren't what they think they are, friends to the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-25 19:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10770678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Mage/pseuds/Dragon_Mage
Summary: When a minor incident separates a Sniper from his team, he is confronted by robots. All fronts seem to be surrounded by these robots, as if Gray Mann had been intending to keep him trapped inside. His new goal is to escape this death trap and get to the real world, even if it means leaving everything behind. But really, what is he leaving behind?A short story about mercenaries trying to survive an apocalypse type of situation, only to find that they themselves are not what they thought they were.This story will be deleted from AO3 on [December 1] to become an original work. This piece will be part of an anthology of short stories.More info: https://mageleartist.wixsite.com/treasurehuntpp/fanfiction-message





	1. The First Strike

In the middle of nowhere, 1993

It was just your average day in the life of the mercenary. Most days had become pretty predictable. It came to the point that Sniper could just enjoy his days. That was, he could calculate just how long it would take him to take care of the problems that came their way, then he had the rest of the day to do whatever he wanted.

That was just the usual drill though. Things started to take a much different turn as a sudden new wave of robots came their way. He chuckled as he reloaded his gun and aimed it at the wave.

“A whole new batch of pickings,” he snickered.

His gun went off again, taking down a Medibot. He reloaded and aimed again, looking down the barrel at a Sniperbot. He already caught the lights of a few Sniperbots that were going to kill his teammates.

He laughed as he picked each one off. Each one was a satisfying headshot, causing the bastards to go down screaming. It was a delight to hear their robotic screeches, as metal clashed to the hardened rocky ground.

What a nice set of sounds for his ears. It was like a music for him, added to the powerful blast of his rifle, the harmonious after shock of sound waves, and the rhythmic clicking of letting out the shell and reloading a new round. It was like a feeling of being alive for him. It reminded him of everything he wanted in life, which was to end Grey Mann’s reign of terror. Killing bots was just a pleasant pastime as a way to do it.

The scream of the Soldier rang through the air. He grimaced at the sound, as it interrupted the rhythm of his music. It was also a reminder that they were still mortal and able to die. Unlike the rest of the world though, they had respawn, and that meant that their body got put back together, as if reassembled to keep at this whole damn thing.

Speaking of death, the thought brought him back to memory of enemies. He quickly turned and moved around in his nest. He jabbed around with his machete, hoping he would get the chance to stab a Spybot. When he found that there was nobody there, he went back to his spot to aim at the oncoming wave.

They just kept coming too. It was like they were an unending mass of metallic bodies. There were shouts among them, directing each other and calling out to each other. They were just AI though. It was all a bunch of pre-rendered commands to keep order on the battlefield. Behind it all was Grey and his lackeys, mostly Mecha Engibots.

As his team pushed forward, the wave became thinner, and it became more evident that they would win. Most bots just kept pushing though. They would push until their circuits were fried or worse. The bots were programmed to do nothing other than to fight the mercenaries.

Except these bots did not stay to fight. Once it became evident who was going to win, the bots turned and fled. Soldier, freshly respawned, came running out and rocket jumped across the span of a half mile to start beating on fleeing bots.

Sniper chuckled to himself as he took down each one. They fell like flies, so easily punished with a bullet through the head. No doubt their lives ended quickly, as the bullet and its heat ruined anything left up in the head. Then again, he was only assuming that Grey designed them with the important processing stuff in the head like a human brain.

He would not put it past the man to be cleverer though. It seemed likely that Grey would put the thinking parts in another area of the bots. Still, the bots did not seem capable of getting up, once a rifle bullet went through the noggin, so there was no point to worrying about it. He would leave the worry and fret about how the robots worked to the team’s Engineer.

That was when it hit them. He felt the building he was in tremble, swaying out from under his feet. Terrified, he fled, not wanting to be in a collapsed building at the end of this, because there was no way that shed could stay upright. He burst out of the building, just in time to miss a large chunk of falling debris.

Heat followed at his heels and the terrible blast proceeded. He could feel it coming to him, closer and closer until it had him by every fiber of his being. Everything went black, but he stilled tried to fight, trying to stay awake and alive through it all.

 

He came to with the feeling of being disoriented. Everything felt out of place, like he was not in good sorts. He opened his eyes and looked around, finding that he was half buried under rubble. He barely managed to yank his legs out, struggling across the ground with one arm.

He looked with shock to realize that he did not feel the pain of his arm being gone. There was no pain, just shock. Of course, there was blood and lots of it. That made it very clear to him that he had very little time to cauterize his wound before he lost his life and respawned.

Of all the mercenaries, he hated death the most. It was like a self-challenge. Out of anybody, he had lasted the longest without death, even longer than Spy ever had. His current streak was three weeks, and he was not sure he wanted to let that one go. He was certain that he could have lasted at least another week before death called him.

Of course, maybe he could just go to respawn. It would be safer just to kill himself now, and save himself the trouble. If he asked the Scout to kill him, it might just traumatize the poor kid. It was bad enough that he always seemed off since the first time he killed a man, not that he showed much hesitation against robots after that. Robots were not the same as people, and Sniper being a person would have bothered the poor kid.

He did not have a gun or his machete on him though. He tried looking around for it, but the unsettling sensation of not having an arm started to alarm him. He should have been feeling pain, but he was not. He hurried off, hoping to find the Medic to get this taken care of.

He first came across Scout, who was running around as fast as he could. He raised his arm, releasing the stub he had been holding, “Scout!”

Hearing his title called, the speedster came barreling towards the Sniper. He looked from the stub to Sniper’s face, “Jesus, what happened to you?”

Sniper groaned, “Not really sure. Where’s Medic?”

“Front door to the base, trying to revive Engie,” the youth pointed.

“Thanks,” he nodded, and started making his way in that direction.

It took him a minute of hobbling to realize that he was gimping rather than walking quickly towards the base. He could not tell what was wrong with him though. Whatever was wrong with him was not evidently apparent.

He made his way to the front door to the base, glad to see that the Medic was indeed there. Seated nearby was the Demoman, watching the Medic as he tried to revive what appeared to be a dead Engineer. He was rather desperate too, almost as if the man’s life truly did depend on it.

“Medic,” he groaned, “I need help.”

Medic did not look up from his work, “Not now! I’m trying to revive the Engineer!”

“It ain’t gonna work, doc,” the Demoman said, a dull bleary look in his eye, “I’ve been watching you try to bring him back for five minutes now.”

“We need him!” the Medic screamed with fear, “We need him more than ever! He can’t be dead!”

“What’s this all about? He’ll come back through respawn,” Sniper said, wavering where he stood, “Doc, I need your help! I’m bleeding out here!”

Medic slowly looked up, blinking as he registered that Sniper was missing an arm. He sighed and shook his head, before rising to his feet. He walked over to take Sniper’s arm, pulling on him gently.

“Let’s go cauterize your arm, before you lose all of your blood,” he suggested.

The Demoman rose to his feet with a sigh. Life seemed to return to his eye, but only by increments. The color was vibrant again and he looked like he was living, but there was something broken about him. Sniper could not quite put his finger on it, but it felt strange to him. He should know what it was, but it seemed very foreign.

“Come on, Sniper,” Medic urged him through the door and down the hallway to the infirmary.

 

Sniper laid in a bed in the infirmary for hours. He stared at the ceiling, thinking about what happened. He had not yet had a chance to talk to the others, so he was not filled in on any other details. His arm was apparently not coming back, though the Medic was apparently able to reset his leg. Hopefully he would be up and walking by the end of the week. He might be needed before then though.

“Alright,” suddenly Scout, Medic and Demoman came through the door. Scout was being loud as usual. “We scrounged everywhere, but we could not find anybody in a whole piece.”

“It seems we are the last ones left,” Medic said, mournfully.

“Don’t sound like it’s a funeral,” Sniper protested, “We’ve got respawn, remember?”

“Not anymore we don’t,” Medic shook his head.

“What?” Sniper jumped right out of the bed, terrified at the revelation given to him.

“It blew up,” Demoman nodded, “That’s what caused the tremors. We lost our respawn, and we’re stranded here.”

“We can’t be stranded,” Sniper steadied himself with his one hand on the bed he had been laying on.

“Yes we are!” Scout protested, “There are robots surrounding us on all sides!”

“They have bases now,” Medic groaned.

“What do you mean they have bases now?” Sniper scoffed in disbelief.

“He _means_ that they have bases now!” Scout gestured with his hands pointedly.

“Dunno where they came from,” the Demoman admitted, “They just suddenly appeared. We must have been too busy fighting to notice.”

“How could we have missed that?” Sniper protested.

His mind was spinning, unable to fully grasp what was going on, without impending doom sinking into his gut and making him rethink everything. He was on an endless loop of trying to process all of this, unable to fully grasp what this was all about. He ended up giving up on trying to understand it.

“What are our options?” Sniper asked.

“We have none!” Medic exclaimed, “We hole ourselves up and pray some miracle happens!”

“Now would be a great time for a Merasmus distraction,” Demoman groaned.

“Why Merasmus?” Scout scoffed, “That would cause _more_ problems!”

“He would accidentally bring us some things we could use to fight off the bots,” Demoman explained.

“That’s a bit of a stretch on hope,” Sniper replied, “Don’t you think?”

“I say we go out with a bang!” Scout cheered, raising a fist, “We go for their bases or die trying!”

“We would be better to block off all entrances to the base,” Medic replied, a bit less enthusiastically, “Just wait out the storm that is no doubt going to come.”

“If we check Engie’s workshop, maybe we’ll find a radio,” Demoman suggested, “We could call for help.”

“There’s nobody out _there_ who is going to help _us_!” Medic exclaimed, “Name one person who even cares you’re out here!”

Sniper paused to think about it. He could not really think of anybody. He could not think of anybody in general. He chopped it up to being here for so long, with the injuries and the respawning. He wondered if the others felt like they had forgotten how it was living on the outside too.

Nobody could name a person who cared about them being there. Nobody spoke up. They all just resigned to despair. It was a relative silence that spoke for itself: they were doomed.

“So we’re all in agreement then?” Demoman asked. Nobody answered them, just standing there with shoulders slumped.

 

Sniper moved himself to the recreational room. Being without an arm, the Medic said he was not fit for hard labor, but he could move around the base. So, he watched from the couch as Scout and Demo worked together to bar the windows. So much for a nice sunny day after work, as it seemed they would be seeing less of the sunshine than they used to.

He sighed at the thought, leaning his head back against the back of the couch. It was depressing to think that he might have permanent damage. Missing an arm was not good for a Sniper. A gun required two hands for holding and for reloading. He was likely to get fired from this job.

That was not even a likelihood, that was pretty damn definitive. His only hope was lost to the Medic seeing no way to fix Sniper’s arm problem. He prayed that the man found something to fix him, or even something to replace his arm. As shitty as this job was, it was about all he had, as far as he was aware.

“Hey Snipes! Why don’t you stop staring and help out a little?” Scout called to him.

“I’m too busy being injured, remember?” Sniper replied in jest.

“Lad’s missing an arm,” Demoman gave Scout a slap on the back, “Leave him alone!”

Scout sighed with irritation, before returning to their work. They covered up every possible crevice, even the ones that were impossible for man or bot to enter or exit through.

Medic returned from holing up the infirmary, with a hammer in hand, “I know this is a bit late to ask, but isn’t this building going to be a coffin if we block off every exit?”

“Every exit is an entrance, lad,” Demoman paused to wipe his sweaty brow.

“How are we getting out though?” Scout asked, a little alarmed, “I mean, help isn’t coming…yet…but that doesn’t mean that we can survive here!”

“Bah!” Sniper growled, “We’ve got a good twenty or so days of food. If we ration it between the four of us, we’ll be fine. We can last until we think of a better plan.”

“What if help never comes?” Scout asked, anxiously.

“Then we’ll need to make our own plan,” Sniper insisted.


	2. Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mostly uneventful day of trying to prepare for the inevitable.

The night was tense. Sniper slept very little, feeling a raising fear of the inevitable. The ever approaching truth of what was to come was very haunting. He had said they needed a plan, but deep down he knew that there was no escape. Nobody would come, nobody cared, and they were all doomed.

Any hope he had of rescue never existed. Any hope he had of getting out of there himself had depleted upon realizing that he would never have a right arm again. Any chance of being helpful to his teammates’ escape was zeroed out, as he felt the phantom pains of the arm that was no longer there.

He looked through a crevice in the boards over a window as the sun came up. His heart lurched when he thought about how he might not see that beautiful sight ever again. The events of the day would tell if they were doomed by the evening. For now, he just hoped he lived to see the sunset one last time.

“Hey Sniper,” Scout interrupted his thoughts.

He turned his head and nodded in greeting to the speedster, “Good morning.”

“How are you holding up?” Scout walked over and sat on the edge of the bed that Sniper was using.

He shrugged, “I’m holding, I guess.”

Scout looked at the floor by the bed. There was only a foot of floor between this bed and the bed that Medic was using. They had all brought beds down to the recreational room. There was no way any of them were sleeping alone if there was a chance the robots could sneak up on them and try to kill them in the middle of the night, while they were unable to respawn.

“Got any of that high spirited attitude to keep us cheered up until we get out of here?” Sniper asked.

Scout gave him a look that bordered between confusion and sadness, “Not really. I don’t know how to keep myself cheered up. I couldn’t even sleep last night.”

Sniper sighed, “You should try to keep your chin up.”

“Hey thanks, really great pep talk,” Scout rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Sniper insisted, “I…don’t have a lot going for me, what with one arm gone. The others need you to keep them upwards though. I’d do it, but I’ve never been good at that kind of thing.”

Scout laughed, “Yea, you’re always mopey when something goes wrong!”

Sniper gave a chuckle, just to stay in the lightened mood, “Hey! Come on. I’m not that mopey. At least I don’t get dramatic or anything.”

“You’re right, Demo gets the mopiest! And then Medic’s overwhelmingly dramatic,” Scout laughed, rocking as he threw his head back.

“A few beers in Medic usually calms him down,” Sniper mentioned, hoping the younger mercenary might keep that tidbit in mind for the future.

Scout laughed, but was soon cut off by the clearing of a throat. The two of them looked to a doorway to see Medic standing there with Demo just slightly behind him. Medic looked rather irate, while Demo looked very forlorn. Sniper shared a look with Scout, unsure of how to react to their appearance in the doorway.

“Sorry to interrupt your little convention,” Medic said, in an irritated tone.

“We just came back from scouting from upstairs,” Demo explained. There was such a sadness in his tone that Sniper really felt bad for him.

“From upstairs?” Scout chortled.

Demo raised a hand to show the tool he was holding, “We have binoculars.”

“Cool! Since when have we had those?” Scout jumped to his feet and walked over, wanting to take the binoculars to look at them. The Demoman had other ideas, doing everything he could to keep the instrument from the younger mercenary’s grip.

“Emergency kits,” Medic rolled his eyes at the two fighting, “We’ll have to ration those supplies too. It won’t be long before we run out of pain medications for Sniper’s arm. Not that there was much left after Soldier’s recent incidences.”

Sniper winced, glancing down at his stub. With no arm left, he not only felt like there was some part of him missing, but he also felt a lot of pain. It was frustrating to know that he was the only one running their medication out. No doubt they would blame _him_ even if he was dead, once it was all gone.

“So…what did you find out?” Sniper asked, a touch hesitantly.

“Nothing seems to have changed,” Medic offered, with a light-hearted smile that was meant to lift the mood somehow. Sniper did not feel lifted though.

“They’re still out there,” Demoman said, moving around so that Scout could not get the binoculars from him, “Strangely enough, nobody’s come to fight us. That’s a blessing in itself. Isn’t it, doc?”

“Hey!” Scout stopped jumping around and harassing Demoman. His eyes lit up and he smiled broadly. “Maybe we can go outside! We can scrounge for supplies and get a better look at escape options!”

“No!” Demoman spat.

“No way,” Medic shook his head.

“Scrapper wants to run out and get eaten by metal, let him,” Sniper teased with a chuckle.

“I hardly think this is funny,” Medic glared at Sniper.

There was a moment of silence. Sniper still thought it was a little funny. Scout was too preoccupied with getting the binoculars from Demoman to care though.

Medic sighed and decided to explain himself, “Let me be clear. Generally in survival type scenarios, people find that being alone is safer. You can’t turn against your own group if there isn’t a group to turn against. Nobody likes a traitor.”

“There are traitors here, lad!” Demoman gave Scout a shove.

Medic nodded in agreement, “But the truth to the matter is that our survival revolves around numbers. We don’t have many.”

“So what? We’re dead?” Scout scoffed. He seemed to be disbelieving of the idea that they could give up so easily.

“No…but if we have any chance, we must keep each other alive! Each man that wants to survive must keep the rest of us alive to do it,” Medic explained further, “Is that understood?”

Both Medic and Demoman turned glares to Sniper. He was surprised and a little offended that they were so quick to judge. He glared right back at them, refusing to back down from the apparent fight they were picking with him.

“What you looking at me for?” he growled with frustration.

“As a loner by choice and by lifestyle, we know you’re used to doing things on your own,” Medic explained, still glaring daggers into his skull.

“True, but I ain’t stupid either,” he argued.

“And you’re always talking about how…if there were an apocalypse, you would be the first to ditch the rest and go out solo,” Demoman added, still struggling to keep Scout at bay. The youthful slugger was doing his best to get to those binoculars, like a child with a single purpose in his mind.

“That’s different!” Sniper snapped at them.

“How? How is that any different from what this is right now?” Medic asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I mean, it’s the same, but there’s doing a thing and then there’s experiencing a thing. We’re experiencing it right now. On top of all that, I haven’t got an arm! Picking up my gun and driving my truck are impossible fetes for me right now. Well, maybe the driving. All in all, I wouldn’t last long either way,” he explained, “This is different because I ain’t imagining the apocalypse as some sort of myth that people tell to scare others. This is happening right now and I’m just as scared as you are!”

“Just leave ‘im be,” Demoman gave Scout another shove, then turned to pat Medic’s shoulder, “He probably means it. He’s missing an arm after all. It’s not like he has much choice. None of us do.”

“Thanks mate,” Sniper nodded to the Demoman. Demo nodded in response, acknowledging the gratitude without speaking.

“Wait…you’re getting mad at Sniper? For what?” Scout finally turned his attention from getting the binoculars to what was going on. He turned to Medic and folded his arms. “This is a really rough situation, but we gotta keep our heads together! Don’t gotta be losing them! We can’t risk losing each other, if we’re gonna rely on each other. Fighting’s just the way to split us up.”

“That’s probably the wisest thing you’ve ever said!” Demoman laughed and clapped Scout on the back.

“Uh…thanks?” Scout hesitated, giving Demoman a wary look.

“What do we do now?” Sniper asked.

“Now?” Medic sighed, “Now we wait.”

“That’s all? That’s it?” Scout made an exasperated sound in his throat, “That’s so boring! I’m bored!”

“Sorry the apocalypse bores ya, Scout!” Demoman laughed, “But we’re dealing with bigger problems!”

“We should ration,” Sniper suggested.

“We already stated that,” Medic said, in an irate tone.

“No, I mean we should arrange the rations,” he explained, “If we start now before we’re desperate, there won’t be any freaking out. We won’t overuse anything. And everything can be placed evenly.”

“Good thinking!” Scout said, with an eager smile.

“Sound plan,” Medic nodded in agreement, “If anybody needs me, I’ll be rationing in the infirmary.”

“I’ll go ration food in the kitchen,” Demoman toddled off.

“What’s there to ration in the infirmary?” Scout asked.

“Medication,” Medic replied, “We need to be _certain_ that there’s enough for Sniper’s arm and for any injuries the rest of us might incur.”

Sniper nodded without saying a word. He knew this was a survival thing. He would not hold anything against anyone for trying to survive together. If his rations ran out, he would just have to suck it up, even if there was a stash of rations for the others.

“What should we do?” Scout turned to him. There was some wide-eyed innocence in this kid, a young man who enjoyed beating the tar out of human beings and robots.

“Let’s go ration water,” he suggested, hoisting himself off of the bed.

He was still in his sleepwear, but he did not see much reason to change. What was the point if they were just going to be hanging around the base anyways? It was not like the recreational room where they slept was much cleaner than the rest of the place anyways. If he died, he would rather die in loose fitting and comfortable pants.

“Sure, let’s do that,” Scout nodded in agreement and followed his lead.

 

They spent several hours deciding on water rations. They needed to ration it out as best as they could, but Scout was not very good at seeing how much a living human needed. They had to keep themselves hydrated, after all. It was not like they could each survive off of a mere ounce. Sniper made sure to leave plenty of room for error too, in case they had a hotter day or ended up exercising. The last thing they needed was to use more than one day’s ration within twenty-four hours and not know what to do about it.

When all was said and done, they regrouped in the recreational room. They each looked exhausted, more so than they normally would, but it was not from exercising or actually doing anything of worth. On the contrary, this was an exhaustion comparable to herd animals’ stress to being chased by predators and constantly feeling wary about the possible return of the predator.

“I think I’ve rationed out the medicines well enough,” Medic gave Sniper an encouraging smile, “We should have plenty for the next month for your arm.”

“Thanks mate,” he returned the smile, hoping to be as supportive as Medic was trying to be.

Medic nodded, before moving to his bed. He was quiet, but his face spoke enough. As little effort as he might have put into his work today, he was stressed and terrified. He looked like he was a mess who had yet to get enough sleep.

“I rationed food,” Demoman explained, “We’ve got plenty of canned foods. We’re gonna be out of vegetables in a week though.”

“That’s for the best,” Medic sighed, “Vegetables will go bad quickly. We can’t leave them lying around.”

Demoman nodded in agreement, “We’re good for the next month and a half. My concern is with the ammunition?”

“The ammunition?” Scout cut in, taking a seat on his own bed.

“I went to ration some ammunition,” Demo explained, “You know, just in case. The last thing we need is problems with ammunition supply.”

“And?” Sniper pressed. Part of him really wanted to get his hands on some ammunition and a sniper rifle.

“It’s bad,” Demoman frowned. There was a long silence among the four of them. “It’s really bad. We’re down really hard on ammo. We’re gonna have to use our deceased teammates’ weapons at some point or another.”

“Unless we don’t fight,” Medic offered.

“Unless we die,” Demo said, as if that was what Medic was saying.

Medic shot him a nasty glare, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Doesn’t matter what you meant,” Demo argued, “That’s the alternative.”

“That bad, huh?” Scout sounded forlorn.

Sniper took a deep breath, “We’ll make it through.”

“Are you sure about that?” Medic pressed, pulling off his boots.

“I’m sure. Scout and I rationed water today. We’re fine for the next three months. Probably more so, because there’s more to ration. Point being is that we’ve got plenty of other supplies to keep us alive,” he explained hastily.

“Not if one of them robots gets in here!” Demoman argued.

“We’ll handle it,” Sniper insisted, “For now, let’s get some rest. We’ll be no use tomorrow if we don’t get a good night’s sleep now.”

“He’s right,” Scout agreed, “Let’s uh…let’s sleep on it.”

“We’ll come up with a plan of action tomorrow,” Sniper suggested, “So that if something _does_ happen, we’re ready.”

“Alright,” Medic sighed. He looked down at the socks on his feet with a look of despair.

“Buck up,” Demo said to Medic, “Tomorrow will be different!”

Medic nodded in agreement before he laid down. They all laid down and stared at the ceiling in silence. It must have been hours before any of them started snoring. Sniper did not snore, he was wide awake staring at the dark abyss at the ceiling. He could not tear his gaze away from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still trying to decide exactly how many chapters this will be. Probably like 6 or 7.
> 
> Feedback, thoughts, etc are welcome!


	3. Day 2

The next morning was different. It felt different namely because they were taking to this new survival role better. They had started with rationing on day one. They had their first rations of the day and then got to work with new projects. It was mostly rationing more things they had to use, but it was also securing the perimeter. Sniper was helping Medic with sorting certain vitamins and medications that they would start taking to support their rationed diets. Rationing did not take dietary health into account, after all.

“We’ll have to be more careful from now on,” Medic noted.

“No kidding,” Sniper nodded in agreement. Moving pills from one bottle to another with one hand was a slow and arduous process, too tedious for his attention right now.

His gaze wandered to the window, where the boards let in a miniscule amount of light. It was disheartening. Now he wished he had not taken years of working with those who were dead for granted. It was nicer to feel safe and not holed up in this place.

“Sniper, are you going to help, or not?” Medic barked, dragging his attention right back to the bottle he was working on.

He almost let it fall over and spill on the floor, because of his distraction. He gave himself a shake, a bit embarrassed that he had been so distracted. It would have been worse had he actually dumped the pills out. It had been quite a bit of work to do this with one hand, and he was not looking forward to doing another one. He paused, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

He could do this. He was going to do this. He was going to help Medic get this done. If only he felt confident in himself actually managing to do this task. It was difficult with one hand, but what was more was that his mind was simply not meant for such a task. Tedious work was not the same as reloading a sniper rifle. The smoothness of his fingers on the weapon’s handle.

Thinking about it made him miss his weapon. He had been working with it for years. It was a familiar thing to him, a part of him. It was more a part of him than the arm he had lost. Now that he had lost that arm though, he could no longer pick up the rifle and make it work the way he used to.

“I know this is tedious work, but we have to get it done,” Medic insisted.

“Right doc,” he nodded in agreement, turning his full attention to the bottle he was working with.

 

They must have wasted half of the day before they finished with the vitamins. Medic celebrated with a quick relief of stretching his muscles. He groaned a bit, enjoying the moment of solace in his muscles. Sniper would have done the same, but that just brought his attention to the arm he no longer had.

“Well, I suppose it’s time to go for lunch,” Medic looked up at the clock hanging above the door, “We should eat up the vegetables before they go bad.”

“Wonder if the others thought of cooking,” Sniper grumbled, trying to imagine how he would poach an egg with only his left hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” Medic gestured dismissively, “I’ll make something. They’re probably…off being distracted by something.”

Sniper sighed, “It doesn’t help that I’m one handed.”

There was an awkward silence. Medic did not know how to respond to that and Sniper was not sure how to follow up. It just left the two of them in this awkward void that he now realized was unnecessary and avoidable.

“Might as well get it out there,” he said, a bit firmly, “I’m one armed and it’s going to make everything more difficult.”

“Yes…well uh…that moment has passed. Why don’t we head to the mess hall?” Medic quickly changed the subject.

Sniper reluctantly agreed and they made a beeline to the place where food should be. Not too far from the kitchen, the smell of something cooking wafted to their noses. It was surprising, but welcoming. Both of them were relieved about the cooking situation, and both of them became instantly curious about what was being made on the stove.

They hastened their steps to find out what was going on. They were both surprised to see Demoman leaned up against the wall near the doorway. He simply looked at them, then pointed to Scout, who was working with a pan and spatula.

“Scout is cooking?” Medic asked with surprise.

“Don’t be so surprised!” Scout turned and shook his spatula at Medic.

“I didn’t mean to agitate you,” Medic took a few steps closer, curious to see what he was making, “I never knew you could cook.”

“I can cook!” Scout spat angrily.

“Well, we never seen you cook,” Sniper offered, hoping to ease some of the youth’s anger off of the doctor.

“Yea…well, I don’t like cooking every day,” Scout admitted.

“So, you just each fried chicken every day for fun?” Medic had a tone of disbelief.

“What’s it to _you_?” Scout turned his attention back to what he was cooking, “It’s not like fried chicken is _that_ bad! Demoman survives on bread and whiskey.”

Sniper and Medic turned their heads to the Demoman. The man looked surprised that attention had been called to him. He pushed off of the wall, keeping his arms folded over his chest.

“Believe it or not, lads…I spend more time working with potassium chlorate than anything. I never spent much time in a kitchen,” the one-eyed man explained. He did not seem disheartened by it, stating it as a natural fact.

Medic shared a look with Sniper, before they turned their eyes back to him. It was stunning to think that Scout could cook but the Demoman could not. Scout would even skip some meals that others had cooked for the team for fried chicken. Demoman on the other hand loved his home cooked meals.

“You can’t cook?” Sniper gave Demoman a perplexed look.

“I ain’t a woman or nothing!” he spat defensively.

He suddenly started to get the idea that the others were a bit keener to cooking and such. Up to this point, it always seemed like the cultured Spy and the down-home Engineer knew how to cook but nobody else did. Now that Sniper thought about it, it was not far off to think that the rest of them did not know how to cook anything other than coffee – or bombs. None of them really spent a whole lot of time in the kitchen, and even the two aforementioned mercenaries did not cook for the whole team too often.

“Can you cook?” Demoman said, pointing his gaze at Sniper.

“Not with one arm I can’t,” he jested, with a lighthearted chuckle.

Medic seemed to understand now that they were supposed to get into this groove of lightheartedness, because he chuckled too. He gave Sniper a knowing smile when he glanced his way.

“What about you?” he turned his gaze to Medic.

“I was on my way to do that,” Medic explained.

There were a few moments of silence, before the Demoman suddenly burst into laughter. He was smiling like this was the biggest joke in the world. Sniper worried that the man might have snapped, or otherwise might have needed them to be a little less honest with him.

“Seems I’m the idiot that can’t take care of himself!” Demoman laughed and slapped his knee.

Sniper shared a look with Medic, before he walked over to see what Scout was cooking. Out of curiosity, he peered over the youth’s shoulder. A mix of vegetables and shredded beef was steaming in the pan.

“Looks good, mate,” Sniper nodded to him.

“Just wait until you try some,” Scout chuckled.

“I’m sure it’s delicious,” Medic commented.

“It smells alright, lad,” Demoman nodded his ascension.

“It’ll be good to eat up those vegetables,” Medic added.

Sniper headed over to the table to take a seat. He leaned in the chair. His mind shifted to how tired and sore he felt, just feeling like he should be feeling an arm gave him this sore sensation. It was beyond distracting and made him wish he could just sink into his own little hole, apart from the others.

He could not do that right now though, not while they needed him around. He needed to be there with them. If they went down in flames, then they would do it together.

“Sniper, you sleepy or something,” Demoman asked, sitting down across from him.

“Oh…” his eyes snapped open, “Just thinking.”

“Thinking?” Demoman’s eye blinked.

“Eh…we have many memories in this base, don’t we?” Sniper offered, hoping to keep the conversation light. Maybe some good memories with their old teammates would liven things up for them.

“Yea,” Demoman chuckled, “Many a drinkin’ game at this here table! I’d drink Soldier under the table!” He slapped his knee as he laughed.

Medic sighed, “I remember getting to talk for hours with Heavy about medical things.” He paused for a long while, just listening to Demoman’s laughter die down. He had a sorrowful look on his face. “He rarely understood what I was talking about. Never was interested. But he always cared enough to listen. He was like that.”

“Yea…big guy was already good for an ear,” Scout nodded in agreement, “Somebody gonna set the table?”

“I’ll get it,” Medic went to the cupboards to fetch plates and bowls.

“Ahh…I remember when we finally started using that record player we had in the rec room,” Demoman wiped a tear from his eye, “You remember? Scout over here started dancing like an idiot, he was so drunk! And Spy had moves like a lady.”

“Moves like a lady?” Sniper gave him a curious look.

“Can’t help having wider hips than the average man,” Demoman giggled.

“Why were you looking at his hips?” Sniper furrowed his brow, confusedly. That just seemed outright odd.

“Well, I-” Demoman was quite tongue tied, unsure of what to say, “I mean I was…aw come on!”

“Spy was an ass,” Scout brought a giant serving plate to the table, while Medic set four spaces for them.

“The biggest ass on a man!” Demoman laughed.

“I’ll miss him though,” Scout frowned.

“Aye, he was a good man,” Demoman nodded.

“I think we’re going to need some beer if we’re going to be reminiscing,” Medic stated.

“Aye to that too! I’ll get us something,” Demoman got up and left the kitchen, presumably to fetch some brewskies.

“Ahh…I remember having Oktoberfest in here,” Medic giggled.

“Every year doc,” Sniper offered the man a smile.

“Ja! And it was great!” Medic smiled happily.

“Maybe we should have another Oktoberfest here,” Scout commented, “Think you have it in ya, doc?”

“I don’t think so, Scout,” the older man sat down next to Demoman’s spot and shook his head.

“What do you think, Snipes,” Scout took the seat next to him, “Do you think you could try drinking Demoman under the table?”

“Not today, no,” he motioned to his shoulder, “Look at me! I’ve lost more than a pint of blood! No way is a scraggly little man like me gonna beat that guy at drinking!”

There was a laugh shared among them. The laugh had barely started tapering off when Demoman came back. He chuckled a bit, but he was very confused and curious about why they were laughing so much. He just sort of took his seat, passed around the drinks and settled into the conversation.

They were like this for hours into the evening. They ate the dish Scout had prepared for them and drank Demoman’s whiskey. Except for Scout, who could not handle something stronger than a beer. They had a laugh over that, but let Scout have his beers.

When they retired together, it was an odd ritual. It was nothing like it used to be. None of them had any personal space, and it certainly was not private. It just sort of became a communal thing, laying down and trying to get Scout to shut up.

For all of his talking, Scout was actually the question of the bunch when he was asleep. It was Demoman who really rattled like a chainsaw. Then there was Medic, who seemed to talk a lot in his sleep. For a while, Sniper thought he was having a whole half of a conversation in his mutters.

Sniper could not sleep for the longest time. He just sort of laid there, wishing he could muster up the urge to rest his eyes. He had too much to think about. There was too much to ponder. What was the worst of it all, was wondering if he would see it to its end or not.

Part of him wanted to see all of it to its end. That was the route of living, or he thought so. Surely living to see all of it go up in flames, escaping with but a missing arm and mental trauma to last him the rest of his life, was the best-case scenario for him. He would aim for that, and not think about the possibility of being the next to die, given his chances.

If he could manage it, the next best thing was dying to see the others survive him. He would aid in their survival if he could. That meant he was not going to give up. He would count the pills, share good memories, and distract the others from their woes for the time being.


	4. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout has an accident in the basement storage.

Sniper joined Scout in getting drinking water for breakfast. The plumbing had finally stopped working and the power was finally out. Nothing would work anymore. They had been abandoned in regards to utilities and that could spell worse situations for them.

“There was this one time that Heavy crushed a huge coconut over his head,” Scout was chuckling, while he filled canteens with water, “Just to prove he could do it!”

Sniper gave a small chuckle as he took a canteen. He was feeling very tired. He did not sleep well, and he was starting to feel it in his bones. It was probably going to spell trouble for him, if he was not careful.

“I mean, how does somebody break a coconut over his head without breaking his coconut?!” Scout exclaimed, laughing.

He followed Scout closely as they left the barrels they had collected the water in, returning to the kitchen. There, Medic was using a blow torch to cook something. Sniper was not sure he wanted to know what it was. He did not have much of an appetite to speak of anyways.

“You sure that’ll work?” Demoman was fretting over Medic’s shoulder, “That doesn’t look very even.”

“Don’t worry! It’ll work!” Medic insisted, gesturing for Demoman to leave him alone.

“You figuring it out?” Scout chuckled.

“Working on it!” Medic called, sounding a little flustered. He probably had to deal with the Demoman hanging over his shoulder for a little too long.

“Don’t fret too much, doc,” Sniper took a seat. He felt so much more tired than the day before. Why? Why did he feel so damn tired? “We’re not that picky of eaters anyways,” he assured him.

“I assure you! I’ll have a lovely meal prepared!” the German insisted.

“You really pushed him, didn’t you?” Scout looked to Demoman.

“Not really,” Demoman whined.

“Oh come on,” Scout chuckled, “Give him a break.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn out fine,” Sniper nodded in agreement.

Demoman gave a small huff of a noise that sounded like ascension to Sniper. He gave him a smile, hoping to distill any negative emotions there. Their heads whipped around though, as the Medic started shouting things.

“What happened?” Scout hurried over to check on him.

“Burned my hand! Dammit!” Medic cradled his hand.

“Go wrap it up,” Scout insisted, “I’ll take care of this. Don’t worry.”

Scout went about cooking, while Medic retreated to the infirmary to fix his hand. An incident to count bandages and medicine towards. Their medical equipment would run out sooner or later. Sniper tried not to worry, to think positively, so as not to bring anybody to the wrong idea about using the medicine for the burns on Medic’s hand.

Demoman caught Sniper’s attention with a gesture of his hand. He set a bottle in front of him, “You look tired, mate. Need a drink?”

Sniper sighed. Alcohol sounded really nice right about now. Drink away his sorrows and feel a little better about himself, maybe. He took the bottle with a smile and a nod in gratitude. He tilted it back, taking a few gulps, enjoying the slight buzz. One bottle would not hurt anything.

One bottle was finished before the meal was even ready. They all sat down together to eat, and they each had a beer. Demoman just could not start the day without some sort of alcohol to pair with his meal. The others just did not feel like going about this day without something to numb the dull pain of it. Medic had legitimate reasons of pain, moaning about his hand hurting. Scout just had this childish sensation that they needed to get buzzed and distract themselves from what was going on.

 

Later that day, Sniper sat down for a game of cards with Demoman. It was so boring and quiet around the base. It used to be so lively and loud. It was as if the memories of their friends had vanished with them. Perhaps the sentiment of ghosts and memories living on in a place was all bogus. Once you were gone, that was it. You were just gone.

“Royal flush, lad!” Demoman laughed, laying out his hand.

“I only got pairs,” Sniper laid his hand down.

An effeminate screech came from the storage down in the basement. They shared a look, before they ran to the source. Sniper grabbed his machete and Demoman grabbed a gun. There was no way they were going unarmed if there was danger about. It might have been time for Gray’s robots to strike already.

“Scout!” Demoman called out, his gun at the ready.

“Where are ya, rabbit?” Sniper called, as they made their way down into the dark basement.

“What’s with all the yelling?” he heard Medic above them, hurrying towards the source of the noise like they were.

Neither man would answer him, immediately creeped out by the eerie silence in the dark room. Sniper slowly holstered his machete and went to a pocket for a lighter. It was just laying around, one of those things that Spy used to forget to tuck away. It took four tries to get it lit, the spark finally taking to the gas.

He held it out at arm’s length to try and get the light out to what was around them. Normally, they could have turned on a switch and looked around, but right now there was no power. Sniper wished he could just turn the light back off, looking at a horde of nasty rats. They were as big as possums, digging around in bags and chewing open crates. They were getting into the old food and ruining the ammunition.

“Fuck!” Demoman exclaimed, “We need to get these suckers out of here!”

Sniper eyed the Demoman’s weapon, “Don’t shoot that in here.”

“What? Why?” the man asked, obliviously.

“You’ll cause a _massive_ fucking explosion!” Sniper exclaimed.

“Right, right,” Demoman shifted his gun, pointing it at the ceiling, “I knew that. Just a bit alarmed by all of this.”

“Maybe you should have thought of getting a weapon with less fire power,” Medic commented, as he made his way down the stairs. He had a needle gun in one hand and a bonesaw in the other.

“Doc, I ain’t got one of those needle shooters,” Demoman said, gesturing to the German’s weapons.

“Not my fault, is it?” the Medic gave him a questioning look.

“Where’s Scout?” Sniper asked, moving carefully around. He held the light out, scaring away the rats that came too close. They were scared enough of the flames to stay away when he drew near.

“Over here,” he heard a groan.

He followed the sound, stumbling over some overturned barrels. Demoman and Medic were right behind him, almost shoving each other as they raced to stay in the light of the old lighter. Sniper moved his hand left and right, casting light around in search of the younger mercenary.

“Oww…” Scout moaned, as he shifted something that was on top of him, “I can’t move.”

“Hold on, lad!” Demoman lurched forward, with Medic behind him.

The two of them put aside their weapons to hoist a giant cabinet off of him. Why such an ornate looking cabinet was down here, Sniper did not know. All he could tell was that it contained some stuff that Demoman probably worked with.

“You should have bolted this,” Medic noted, as they straightened up the cabinet.

“Why is it my fault the lad got hit? I didn’t push it on him!” Demoman exclaimed, defensively.

“I didn’t say it was your fault,” Medic quickly knelt beside Scout, “I’m saying you should bolt that damn cabinet!” He went silent as he checked Scout. He turned his head gently to find that there was blood matting his hair and covering his ear. “This is very bad,” Medic noted, with a horrified look on his face.

In this situation that they were in, Sniper knew that look spelled doom. If it was not doom for them all, then it was at least doom for Scout. That struck something in Sniper’s heart. It stirred something that had been quiet for decades, like a chord struck in a heart that had gone cold.

“Can we move him upstairs?” Sniper asked.

“I’ll uh…” Medic hesitated, trying to think.

“You two stay here,” Demoman gestured to them with both hands, then gestured the way they came, “I’ll go get the stretcher. Don’t move!”

Demoman took off without a word. Medic remained by Scout’s side, and Sniper made sure that the lighter stayed lit. He did not want to leave his teammates in the dark. He certainly did not want to be in the dark himself.

A small groan coming from the young man made him sigh with relief. Granted, it would probably be better if he woke after they got him out of this basement, but it meant he was alive. Sniper’s train of thought was derailed as he kicked at a rat that was trailing too close to Scout’s foot.

“What happened? Ow…my head hurts. Why does my voice sound so weird? What am I hearing? Is anybody there?” Scout rambled.

“Relax,” Medic said gently, “We’re right here. We’re here to help you.”

Scout’s eyes snapped open and he looked at Medic with wide unblinking orbs. His face paled and he looked like he was suddenly terrified. It was like he was looking at the devil incarnate himself.

Before either of them could do anything, Scout started screaming and scrambling to get away from the Medic. His voice went to the highest pitch that could have possibly come from any man’s throat. It felt higher in pitch than a woman’s scream, and it hurt Sniper’s ears. He cringed at the feel of that voice hitting his eardrums, relentlessly.

“Scout! Scout! Calm down! We’re right here!” Medic walked on his knees towards him.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Get away from me! Oh my God! Stay away! Don’t touch me! Get away! Where’s my gun? Holy shit! Get away!” Scout scrambled until he bumped into the cabinet.

“Scout, calm down,” Sniper stepped a little closer with the lighter.

Scout screamed again, hands flailing in search of something to use as a weapon. His eyes were big as saucers, staring at them with fear. The realization that he was not going to be calming down anytime soon had Medic reaching into his pocket.

“Scout, you need to calm down,” Medic tried to sooth him with a calm voice.

“Jesus fucking Christ! You’re a bot!” Scout pointed at Medic as the German drew near.

Medic paused halfway through bringing a needle out of his pocket. He was stumped, but then shook off the thought. He put a hand on Scout’s shoulder and raised the needle.

Scout’s foot came up and he lurched at the man’s face. The kick landed solidly in Medic’s face. He fell back with a loud umph. Sniper darted forward, but he did not have the extra arm to help the doctor. Instead, he crouched low and near the Scout.

“Scout, look mate,” he spoke softly but firmly, “It’s us. We’re your teammates. We’re here to help you. Just calm down.”

“Stay away from me with that screwdriver thingy!” Scout shouted, pointing at Medic.

“Nobody’s going to hurt you,” Sniper tried to calm him, “You suffered a hard hit. Just calm down.”

“N-no! No! I don’t wanna calm down! Fucking robot! I’m not gonna calm down!” Scout said, panting with fear.

“Scout, it’s me,” he said, raising his hand in a defensive gesture, “Sniper. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“You ain’t Snipes! You’re a robot!” Scout pointed at him.

“I ain’t no robot, kid!” he growled, “Cut the shit.”

“He kicked me in the face!” Medic pointed at Scout with disbelief.

“You keep away!” Scout turned his fearful finger back to the Medic.

“You kicked me in the face!” Medic shouted at him.

“What? What’s happening?” Demoman came loudly down the stairs with a stretcher bumping down each step.

“He kicked me in the face!” Medic shouted again.

“Calm down, Medic,” Sniper spoke softly.

This was it. One of them had gone crazy and they were all going to lose their cool. Only, Sniper would not let that happen. He would not let it happen, so long as he had the breath to keep them alive. He would calm them down however he could.

“Medic, take a walk,” Sniper ordered, “We’ll get him on the stretcher when we can.”

Medic was muttering something about wanting to wring Scout’s neck as he got to his feet and walked off. He was rather miffed about being kicked in the face, despite the fact that he had probably been round housed too many times to count by the deceased Soldier.

“What happened?” Demo rubbed his cheek.

“Y-you’re all…you’re all robots!” Scout breathed with wide eyed disbelief. Tears were forming in those baby blues.

“Scout, calm down,” Sniper insisted, “We’re not robots.”

“Aye,” the Scotsman agreed, “I wouldn’t have me father’s name or me mother’s sword if I was!”

Sniper ignored that, not sure what to make of it, “Take a breath, Scout. We’re here to _help_ you. So please, just breathe. We’ll figure this out together.”

“N-no! Y-you can’t…you’ve been robots all this time? How can this-?” Scout looked at his hands and his eyes got bigger. They must have been the size of dinner plates and they were still widening. “N-no! This can’t be!”

“Scout! Lad! Calm down!” Demoman said, taking a step closer.

“Stay there, mate,” Sniper raised his hand to gesture to the Demoman.

“We’re all robots!” Scout screeched.

“We’re not robots,” Demoman argued.

“He’s right,” Sniper shifted on the balls of his feet, “Listen, you’ve been hit in the head bad. You’re concussed and it’s freaking you out. Just calm down and let’s go upstairs to the infirmary.”

“Y- but I…we…” Scout was turning his hands over and looking at them. He must have been hit hard on the noggin to be so delirious.

“We should just take him up there,” Demoman suggested.

“Nah,” Sniper shook his head, “Give him a minute.”

He was calm outwardly, but really he was freaking out. He was winging this, hoping he was doing the right thing. He did not want to see the young piker die.

“S-snipes?” Scout stammered.

“Yea?” he responded. Scout’s voice was softer, and that beckoned him to be more hopeful.

“Is this what we are?” Scout held up his hand, facing his palm towards him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” it came off of Sniper’s tongue faster than he could think. He kicked himself mentally for not thinking about his words a bit more carefully.

“Sniper! Sniper we’re robots!” Scout held his hands out, looking distressed.

“Hang on! Hold on! Just a minute! You just got hit on the noggin, lad!” Demoman said to him, “You’re looking at yourself with a bad head. You need some rest and some medicine. You’re probably in a lot of pain now aren’t you?”

“Not really?” Scout rubbed his head, “There are sparks coming out of the side of my head though. Jesus!”

“Scout, you’re seeing things,” Sniper insisted.

“Doc’ll take care of you,” Demoman insisted, “But we need to get you upstairs.”

“Lighter’s running ou-” Sniper’s finger slipped and the lighter dropped to the ground, turning off completely.

He immediately scrambled with a yelp to get the light. He was terrified, seeing how the darkness encroached on his senses. He never thought he would be scared of the dark before this, but seeing as they had a friend who needed their help and giant rats in their supplies, they needed light.

“Shit! I should have grabbed a light when I was upstairs!” Demoman knelt beside him, helping him search.

“What’s going on down there?” Medic called from upstairs.

“Bring us a torch, mate!” Demoman called back.

“What are you guys doing?” Scout asked from the darkness, sounding puzzled.

“Looking for the damn lighter,” Sniper grumbled, “Just sit tight.”

“We’ll get a light and we’ll be out of here shortly. Alright?” Demoman asked.

“I can see fine,” Scout said.

There was the sound of shifting and feet. Scout had gotten up on his own and was likely wavering. Sniper leaped to the call, hurrying to his feet to grab Scout with his hand and offer him support. He would not let him fall over for being stupid enough to get on his feet with a concussion.

“Take it easy there, mate,” Sniper insisted.

Scout seemed so tense, standing there with stiff muscles. He must have still been terrified of them. Maybe the darkness made it all worse.

“Let’s get you on the stretcher and we’ll go upstairs. Medic should be coming back with a light,” Demoman added, getting to his feet, “We’ll have to find your lighter later.”

“Can’t you guys see?” Scout asked.

“It’s darker than the belly of Nessy in here!” Demoman declared.

“Yea, but I can still see,” Scout stated, putting a hand on Sniper’s shoulder, “Can’t you?”

“No,” Demoman replied.

“I’ve got the light!” Medic came tromping down the stairs.

“Come on then! We dropped the lighter!” Sniper called to him.

“ _You_ dropped the lighter,” Demoman corrected.

Sniper rolled his eyes, “Hurry up and get down here! We can’t see!”

“ _You_ can’t see,” Scout corrected.

“You’re probably not seeing, Scout,” Demoman argued, “You probably hit your head so hard that you’re seeing things. Things that aren’t what’s really there.”

“I can see the cabinet,” Scout argued.

“Yes, but we told you about it,” Demoman argued, “Of course you would know it was there.”

“I’ve got the light!” Medic came trotting back, with a flashlight shining at them, “Up on your feet? Feel any better?”

“He’s talking about nonsense, doc!” Demoman shook his head, “Lad’s gotten the senses knocked out of him!”

“Let’s get him upstairs to the infirmary,” he gestured to the doorway.

They left the stretcher behind. They would worry about it later. There were plenty of beds to lay Scout on. Besides, if Scout was already on his feet, he could walk himself there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh! Things are starting to go awry!


	5. Counting Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A countdown has begun.

Day 4

The next morning, Demoman took a turn to cook breakfast. The man figured he would include alcohol into his cooking. Because why not? Of course, he thought he needed to incorporate alcohol into everything. It seemed like the kind of thing that was incorporated into his blood.

Sniper could not complain. He was not being asked to cook with only one arm. What was more, Demoman had a bottle of whiskey already ready for him to drink on the table. He gave him a smile and a nod of gratitude before sitting down at the table.

“It’s a wonder your liver hasn’t failed you permanently,” Scout jested.

Poor guy seemed to be doing better. He had his head wrapped up, but he seemed much better. He was smiling a lot too. In normal circumstances, Sniper would have considered it weird that Scout was smiling so much. Medic had pulled him and Demo aside, asking them to just let the kid take it easy for a while, make the healing process simpler for his injured head.

“Oh, it did,” Medic laughed, “I replaced his liver at least…six times? Was it six times?”

Demoman shrugged, “I never paid attention to what you were replacing.”

“It’s not like I do surgery often, Demo,” Medic insisted.

“Yea, but when you have that many surgeries, I imagine you don’t want to think about it,” Sniper offered.

“But your body doesn’t forget something like that,” Medic put in.

“Bodies don’t count,” Scout snickered, “Kinda have to use some brain for that.” Scout pointed to the bandage on his head.

“True,” Medic scratched his chin as he thought about this, “But it seems odd that he would forget how many times he had been surgically worked on.”

“It’s hard to keep track when you’re shitfaced going into half of them,” Demoman argued, “Maybe more. I don’t remember. Can’t remember shit after a few too many good ones.”

 

Sniper sat in a corner, with a sniper rifle draped across his lap. How he missed this thing. It would have been nice if Engineer were around. Given the guy could build just about anything, he probably could have made Sniper a mechanical arm by now. He would be able to use his weapon and fight back like the others. They had no idea how terrifying it was, just knowing he could not pick up a rifle again.

Scout was walking by. That was all that caught Sniper’s attention. The youth did not really say anything or even acknowledge him. He just kept on walking like nobody was there.

“How’s your head, mate?” Sniper said to him.

Scout stopped in his tracks, then turned to look at him. He blinked, just a little puzzled, “I’m uh…feeling better!”

Sniper gave him an encouraging smile, “That’s good to hear!”

“Yea…uh…yea,” Scout gave him an uncertain smile.

“No more robots, yea?” Sniper added. All of that crazy talk from the day before should have blown over by now, but Sniper just hoped Scout was able to forget all about that stuff from the day before.

“Uh…yea,” Scout nodded, with the most unsure look he ever wore, “Yup! No more…uh…no more seeing robots. Me and doc talked. And I feel a _lot_ better. I could probably run a marathon, I feel so good!”

“Take it easy there,” Sniper insisted, “Take it easy for a while. Don’t need to go hurting the noggin again. Okay?”

“Yea…sure,” Scout nodded, then hurried on his way.

Sniper frowned, feeling like Scout was not taking his words to heart. Something was amiss and he was not sure what it was. If he were Spy, he would probably look into it. However, he was not Spy, and he would never be good at sneaking around. However, he was very good at keeping people checked in.

He got carefully to his feet and lumbered off to find Medic. If anybody could help Scout it was the doctor. If something was wrong with him, Medic should be the first to know anyways.

It was just a quick stroll to the kitchen to find the Medic. He was pacing near the dining table, where Demoman was seated. Both of them looked very worried, and he thought he might know why.

“Either of you seen Scout recently?” he threw his thumb the way he came to indicate which way the youth had gone, “Something seems up.”

“Yes, well uh…” Medic hesitated, giving Demoman a look.

“Lad’s been going on and on about robots,” Demoman explained.

“I thought he stopped with that,” Sniper frowned.

“To our faces, he stopped,” Medic explained.

“We been keeping an eye on him,” Demoman explained, “And all night, he kept waking up and muttering about robots. He was freaking out at his hands.”

“The creepiest part was when he got up and went to the mirror and said, ‘this is what I am now, I am a robot,’ like it was some sort of realization of identity,” Medic added. He sounded terrified at the thought, as if haunted by the memory.

“He hit his head pretty hard, didn’t he?” Sniper asked, furrowing his brow with concern.

Demoman nodded, but Medic shook his head, “He did, but this is indication of something much worse.”

“What? Hitting his head isn’t bad enough?” Sniper asked, “We already know he’s concussed.”

“His mind is in a fragile state, but doc was tellin’ me about something more sinister,” Demoman frowned.

Sniper turned to the Medic, who stopped pacing, “What is it then? Spill it.”

“I fear that the level of brain damage he took could have…well…massively destroyed his brain,” Medic explained hesitantly, “I think if he has taken such an injury to the extent of seeing robots where there are people, then I believe that he may be…dying.”

“Dying?” Sniper felt shocked and a little hurt by this news. They were trying to stay alive together, it would be the worst if the youngest among them died first. Sniper was the one with no arm here, he should die first.

“The kind of hallucinations…and the apparent progression of them…” Medic went on, “I believe he has building pressure around his brain. It could be internal bleeding.”

“God no,” Sniper breathed. Not Scout.

“How long does he have?” Demoman asked, with worry.

“Two, maybe three days?” Medic shrugged.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Sniper asked, worriedly.

Medic hesitated, “Pray.”

Sniper thought that perhaps this was the reason that Scout seemed off, “Have you told him yet?”

“No,” Medic shook his head.

“Somebody should,” Demo hit the table with his fist, then he pointed to Sniper, “I vote it should be Sniper.”

“Me? What? Why me?” Sniper raised his hand defensively.

“You get along better with the brat,” Demoman sighed, “I tried. We aren’t…we aren’t friends. I wouldn’t want him to be _that_ uncomfortable when hearing this news. He’s gotta hear it from a pal.”

“We ain’t pals,” Sniper argued.

“Neither of you are telling him anything,” Medic said firmly. He placed his hand on the table and sighed. “He only has a few days. Let him have that. Let him be comfortable. He’ll most likely pass away in his sleep. It’s…it’s the easiest way to go. As far as anybody is concerned, worrying about it will only keep him up at night. It’ll be worse for him.”

Sniper shared a look with the Demoman. They both nodded to each other in agreement. They would not tell him. Nobody would even speak of this after they ended the meeting.

 

The next he saw Scout was in the recreational room when they were getting ready for sleep. Scout did not say anything to them though. He sort of avoided them. He even turned his back towards them, as if they were not on speaking terms.

Sniper looked to Demoman and then to Medic. Neither of them said anything. They shrugged and shook their heads as they got ready for bed. Nobody spoke to each other, and everybody was quiet as they laid down. The snoring did not start until late after midnight this time.

 

Day 5

Sniper stumbled upon Scout in a side room. He had a bunch of metal parts and seemed to be trying to fit them together. The moment Sniper walked in though, he stopped. He looked up at him, as if abashed.

“Whacha doing there?” Sniper asked, gesturing to the pieces of what looked like scrap metal.

“Trying to see if I can put Engie back together,” Scout replied.

“Ah,” was Sniper’s reply. In his mind, he was absolutely perplexed at what the fuck was going on. There was no way this kid was in his right mind, to think that he could put a bunch of scrap metal together and bring the Engineer back to life.

“I know you all think I’m crazy,” Scout cringed.

“N-no we don’t,” Sniper argued, shaking his head.

“Yes you do,” Scout protested, “You all think I’m losing it. You think I’m slowly going out of my mind.”

“We’re just a little concerned, that’s all,” he replied gently. He got down to Scout’s level by crouching, “We’re still your teammates. We care about you. We’re here for you, you know? We just want to…to survive this together. All of us.”

Scout glanced quickly between the floor and Sniper a few times, “I…uh…”

“I know this is hard,” Sniper moved closer by just a few inches, “We just gotta work together, mate. We stick together and we can get out of this. Right? No distractions.”

“It doesn’t change things,” Scout averted his gaze.

“Look at me,” Sniper motioned to his stub of an arm, “I’ve lost me an arm! I can’t even shoot anymore. You think I even have a chance? I’m…I’ve got the least chances of anyone here. I wanna see you get out of here though. If any of us can get out of here, the chances must be best if we stick together. Right?”

“Right,” Scout nodded feebly. He seemed a bit shy now.

“So, let’s stick together,” he offered his hand.

Scout took the hand and squeezed it. His gaze focused on the hand. Slowly, his expression changed, as if horrified about something to do with their hands. Sniper only watched, feeling distant and helpless to help the youth’s horrified sensation.

Scout pulled his hand away quickly and turned his attention to the junk metal he had been messing with. He stared at it, as if it were a bunch of foreign objects. Perhaps he was suddenly realizing that these pieces of metal were just junk. It was all junk and he was going just a little crazy. That or he was too crazy to see that his teammate was trying to reach out to him.

Sniper decided to leave him be. He could do his own thing for now. Like Sniper, he was injured and needed to rest. Like Sniper, he was not in a good mindset to be of any help to anybody. Like Sniper, his chances of survival were dwindling.

Unlike Sniper, Scout still had two arms and a lot of energy. So, in spite of all the crazy, the youth still found himself running around the base and throwing his ball around. He was as energetic and playful as always, but instead of their usual yelling, the three older mercenaries left him to it. He deserved a few more days of enjoying _something_ before he kicked the bucket.

 

Day 6

Sniper grew restless and tired at the same time. He need something to do. He needed to reload a gun and rest while waiting for a decent headshot. He needed a real robot to pop out at him so he could fight it. It would be something to do, and something was better than nothing.

When Scout got to his playful antics, he decided to try joining him. Scout mostly ignored him though, as he ran around too fast for Sniper to keep up. Just trying to get the youth’s attention had drained him of all of his energy.

He was left to saunter off somewhere and sit down for a spell. He closed his eyes and let himself doze off. The wonderful world of dreams over took him, and for a little while, he was a two-armed Sniper, with plenty of heads to shoot. There were so many Scoutbots popping up to be shot at, it was amazing. There grew to be too many of them though. The bots were everywhere and they were taking over the base.

Gray Mann had won. That was the end of it. That was how they were to go out. It was time to hang up the weapons and call it a day, for the rest of their lives. It was time to call it quits and go to someplace called home.

He woke with a start and a tear in his eye. That was not how he wanted to go out. Realizing that they were four against an army, with two of them severely injured, there was no way they were getting out of this with their pride.

They would just have to put their dignity aside. It was time to think about survival. As far as Sniper could see, they were not going to survive here. It was time to think about where they were going to go next.

He met up with Demoman while Medic was doing a checkup on Scout. He did not want to trouble Scout with all of this just yet.

“Leave?” Demoman looked surprised, “And how do you reckon we do that? We’re completely surrounded, lad! Take a look outside!”

“I know what’s out there,” Sniper stated, “But it’ll do us no good to stay here. If we start planning now, maybe in a few days’ time, we can leave.”

“Leave where? Leave how?” Demoman asked, “Where would we go?”

“I don’t know,” Sniper shrugged, “Anywhere but here. Gray can’t have taken over everywhere. This isn’t some apocalypse. We might well be the only people on this planet experiencing this.”

“You might be right,” Demoman nodded, “But it’ll be more than a mite dangerous.”

Sniper nodded in agreement, “I’ll be much worse.”

“What about doc and Scout,” he seemed worried that Sniper was going to leave them out.

“I figured I’d put it by you before I troubled them. Scout’s got a…lot of stuff…on his mind right now,” he explained.

Demoman nodded, “Let’s tell them tonight. Tomorrow we’ll start packing.”

 

They sat down with Medic and Scout that evening. The youth looked like he wanted to be anywhere else at the moment, but he stayed when he was told to. He listened as they explained their plans. They were going to use the mines and any Spy equipment they could find. They would go in the dead of night, after they had the right materials to keep them alive for a couple of days when they escaped the robots’ domain.

“Sounds like a plan,” Medic shrugged, after listening, “I figure we have nothing else.”

“What do we have to lose,” Scout stated, passively.

They went to bed on that note. None of them said anything more. None of the cheeriness from a few days ago seemed to have existed. It was like a dream Sniper had once, that was whisked away by reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! Scout!


	6. Three to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout went peacefully, but that leaves the three of them to figure out how they are going to escape and survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter folks!  
> Feel free to leave a comment if you want!

Day 6

They woke the next morning to find that Scout had passed away in his sleep. They wrapped him in his blankets and brought him to the morgue section of the infirmary. They were glad they had this, not wanting to deal with the body. It was bad enough that they were now without their friend.

Why he even felt that Scout might live longer than the doctor had said, Sniper did not know. Perhaps it was some unfulfillable wish that he had. Perhaps he was just hopeful that things would turn out alright. He still wanted things to turn out alright, but things were beginning to grow dull.

Without Scout around to fill the air with noise, they felt alone. The quiet din of the base was terrifying. They were all remarkably bored and tired, just from being in this hellhole they once called home.

 

Day 7

Sniper woke up crying. He did not know why. It was not full out bawling, but his eyes had been filled with tears. The tears themselves dripped down his long face and onto his vest. He touched the tears, wishing he knew their source. After remembering his nightmare from the other day, he decided against that. It was better not to know about the nightmares that caused him this much pain.

They spent the day packing though. They put water into canteens, then went searching for more canteens. There was no way they would survive long if they did not have a decent supply of water.

Then they packed food, cooking everything they could get their hands on. Sniper even went down with a flashlight to grab whatever he could from the basement. The rats were not fast enough to destroy everything, after all. They cooked everything that was still edible, and prepped everything for travel.

They were still busy when night fell. They decided to rest and spend the next day resting. They would have to leave by the dark of night anyways.

 

Day 8

He was coming back to the storage basement to help Demo move a barrel upstairs into the light, when he heard a scream. He quickly darted down the stairs and rushed to the aid of his teammate. He found that the man had dropped his flashlight and was sprawled under a bunch of barrels.

Sniper did his best to remove the barrels, placing his light between his teeth. Having only one arm made this all too difficult. Panic filled him as he pulled the last two barrels off of his teammate’s head.

“Demoman! Demo! Are you alright?” Sniper asked, as he pushed the barrels aside. They did not need a repeat of what happened to Scout.

“Aaaah! Robot!” Demomen exclaimed loudly.

“What? No!” Sniper exclaimed, terrified.

Demoman started laughing, “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. I’m fine. Thanks, lad.”

Sniper sighed with relief, “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry!” Demoman held up his hand.

Sniper returned the flashlight to his mouth before he grabbed Demoman’s hand. He pulled the man to his feet, scowling all the while. This was not a funny joke by any means.

“Thanks for coming for me,” Demoman said, taking the flashlight from Sniper’s mouth.

“Don’t mention it,” he nodded to his friend.

“Sorry for the robot joke,” the man chuckled a bit shyly.

“Don’t do that again,” Sniper scorned.

“Aye,” Demoman nodded.

Suddenly, a scream ripped their attentions to the upstairs. There was only one other teammate left here. They exchanged a panicked look before they bolted for the stairs.

“Medic!” Demoman cried out as the two of them pounded up the stairs.

They rushed to the first place they thought he might be, the infirmary. The two of them quickly looked around, searching for the man. All the while, Sniper was pushing down the panic and worry about the man having the same problem as Scout. Please for the love of all that was holy, the man better not pull the same prank as the Demoman. He might well strangle him with his good arm himself.

“Ugh…” Medic groaned, pulling himself to his feet from behind a screen.

“Doc!” the Demoman rushed to his side and Sniper followed quickly after him.

“Oh…you-” Medic’s eyes widened and his hand went for a scalpel. He suddenly looked absolutely terrified. He raised it to them with fearful eyes tearing up. “T-tell me you’re not a Spy!”

“I’m not a Spy!” Demoman looked to Sniper, very confused.

“We’re not Spies, mate,” Sniper insisted with a nod.

“How do I know?” Medic panted.

“You hit your head, lad,” Demoman said.

“No I didn’t,” Medic’s eyes turned to Sniper in a glare.

“If this is another joke about how Scout died it’s not funny!” he spat angrily. He was sick of pretending and holding it all in. It was not funny. It was never funny.

“This isn’t a joke!” Demoman exclaimed, holding up his hands defensively, “I swear. The whole incident back there was an accident. I wouldn’t have thought about it before. It just occurred to me at the time. It was in poor taste and I’m sorry!”

Sniper gave him a glare anyways, before turning his attention back to the Medic, “What happened, mate?”

“Th-th…” Medic looked from one to the other, panting heavily with fear, “The Spy. He tried to drug me with something.”

“Did he get you?” Demo asked, worriedly.

“No…” Medic rubbed his neck, “No, I don’t think so. I seem to be alright.”

He breathed a sigh and got to his feet. For a long few moments, they were there in silence. Medic seemed to be gathering his wits and such, so neither Sniper nor Demoman wanted to say anything. They did share a curious glance though, not sure what to make of what just happened.

“If I find either of you is a Spy, then I will kill you!” Medic pointed his scalpel at them again.

“For the last bloody time, we’re not Spies!” Demoman spat on his boots.

“I suppose a Spybot couldn’t do that,” Medic noted the saliva stream that hit his shoe.

“Tell us what happened,” Sniper insisted. There had to be more to it than just an attempted drugging. What was more, there was some sort of Spy in the room with them.

“Wait a minute! A Spy? A Spybot…is in here?” Demoman reached for a gun but found none. He looked very nervously around himself. “Something tells me we’re in a bit of trouble. Let’s get out of here.”

“Yes, let’s,” Medic nodded eagerly, “I want some…some tea.”

 

Once Medic had sat down with a nice hot cup of tea, he explained to them what happened. He told them about how he had been cleaning up the laundry that had been used for Scout, when a Spybot snuck up on him. Instead of trying to stab him with a knife, the Spy had been trying to stick him with a needle. It was strange, and seemed like the type of thing that a Spybot would not be capable of.

What was lost in the whole story was how that Spybot came to be in their base. It was inside somewhere, sneaking around. It was waiting for the right opportunity to strike and take victory for Grey Mann. With a needle the thing seemed like it had some sort of ulterior motives though.

“Why would it use a bloody needle?” Demoman asked the air, scratching his hair.

Sniper shrugged, “Beats me.”

“I’m not sure, but I feel like Grey is planning something,” Medic explained. His hands were noticeably shaking as he cupped them around his mug.

“Like what? We ain’t got anything he wants, except the land,” Demoman sighed and dropped his arm on the table with exasperation, “He could just send the whole army and we’d be dead!”

“Not exactly hard to kill at this point,” Sniper nodded in agreement, “I’m useless, Medic’s shaken up, and we’re about to run out of supplies.”

“I’m a bit shaken myself, to tell you the truth, lad,” the Scotsman said, looking at the wooden table.

There were a few moments of silence, before the Medic spoke up, “You alright, Demo?”

“Nah…it’s…everything’s going wrong,” Demoman sighed, “I know I put up a playful front, but I really don’t feel right. Everything is collapsing in front of me. Everything is going wrong and the whole fuss is making me nauseated! Have you ever felt like that? Where everything just suddenly makes you want to be sick?”

Sniper nodded, “I have, yes.”

“I feel like that. I’ve been like that since all of this started,” the man took a deep breath to calm himself, “I can’t sleep right.”

“You snore fine,” Sniper teased.

Demoman gave him a look of reproach, “I’m serious. I know it’s easy to poke fun. I’d be the first to poke at myself. I promise you that detail. Everyday though…” He shook his head slowly.

“Nerves?” Medic inquired, curiously.

“First we lost more than half the team,” Demoman explained, “Gotta board up the base. More of those robot bases start appearing. Sniper’s arm is gone. I love ya like a brother, laddie, but I much prefer you with a rifle in hand.”

“The feeling is shared,” Sniper nodded his ascent to the explanation.

“And the Scout goes…like…loses his mind…and every day it was just all about putting up a front to keep the poor boy calm!” he went on shaking his head, “Poor devil didn’t even see death coming.”

“I’m sure he-” Sniper did not know where he was going with that line of thought. He just wanted to start talking. He wanted to detract from this weird sensation that brought an awful chill to the room.

“Well, it don’t matter,” Demoman sighed, “He’s dead now. As if that didn’t shake me up, today was not making things better. I’ve gone from nerves of steel to shaking like a wee baby!”

“We’ll be fine,” Medic assured him, “Maybe we need to stick closer together. You know? Just for safety’s sake. This building is big for just the three of us. We might need to be more careful.”

There was a pause, a brief silence before Sniper spoke up, “Did you kill the Spy?”

“Obviously not,” Medic gestured with one hand, “Otherwise I wouldn’t have suspected you two.”

“You could have just been thinking there was a second and third Spy,” Demoman argued.

Medic frowned at that explanation, “Your point only makes me feel more paranoid, but it was made nevertheless. So, we have a Spy lurking around. What are we going to do?”

“I say we start a night watch,” Demoman immediately stated.

“Okay,” Sniper nodded in agreement.

Medic sighed, “Just what we needed. Less sleep and more worry.” He gazed down into his tea, like he might fall asleep and fall into the hot liquid.

“It’s only for a couple of nights,” Sniper reminded him, “We’re getting out of here soon enough.”

“Easier said than done,” Medic swirled his finger in his cup, “That will feel like ages away.”

“The way I see it,” Demoman interrupted the way their conversation was going, bringing it back to the main issue, “If we each take turns for three hours, that will get us through nine hours of the night.”

“Decent amount of time to sleep,” Sniper nodded in agreement.

“Let’s do it then,” Medic nodded in agreement.

“I just hope no Spy actually shows up,” Demoman sighed, “I actually want to get a decent night’s sleep. This is all stressing me out.”

Sniper patted the man’s shoulder, “We’ll get through this, mate.”

 

Day 9

Medic, who had taken the first shift, slept late into the morning. Demoman almost mistook him for dead, until they checked for sure. The man turned over and grumbled about being cold. Demoman fetched a first aid kit so they could check his temperature. Wouldn’t you know it, the man was running a fever.

Not wanting to cause Medic any medical issues, they let him rest. They would just have to stay close to him at all times, lest they break off like they said they would not. This would put a damper on their plans though.

Sniper pulled the other man aside, while the Medic was snoring soundly, “Listen, mate. There’s not much we can do. Before you make assumptions, I ain’t saying we leave him.”

“Good, cause I won’t leave him,” Demoman said stubbornly.

“Good,” Sniper nodded, “But we don’t have much time, do we? We have to figure out how we’re going to get out of here. If we wait too long, Grey will have the upper hand quicker. We need to move soon. So, we need to get a plan to move Medic in this condition. Any ideas?”

Demoman shook his head, “None.”

Sniper sighed, “Alright. This day is a bust.”

“We can’t rush him or push him,” Demo put a hand on his shoulder, “We all want to survive this, but look at him. He is in bad shape. We push him and he could kick the bucket faster than we can eat dirt.”

Sniper nodded, “You’re right. We just need to set up a new plan.”

 

Day 10

Setting a new plan up was easier said than done. Medic’s condition grew worse and they were starting to panic. Nothing here was clean or sanitary. The water was becoming stagnant and unsafe to drink. The food was going bad faster than they could eat.

“What if we just up and leave tonight?” Demoman asked, leaning back in his seat with a pipe in his mouth.

Sniper had no idea where he got a pipe from. He did not even know that the Demoman ever smoked. It seemed so out of place for him to do.

“We need to move Medic,” Sniper warned.

Demoman nodded, “We’ve got stretchers.”

“I don’t think he would handle it well in his condition,” he argued.

“Will he last another day in here?” Demoman asked, gesturing to the building around them.

Of course, he would not. It was surprising that the two of them, as healthy as their bodies could be, were still alive. Probably partially because they got a lot of their liquids from alcohol. Not that this point was healthier by any account.

Any one of them could die in here just from the sheer toxicity of it. They were going to lose their minds if the robots did not eventually attack. All they could do all day was prepare and wait. From what Sniper had seen of their supplies so far, there was not much left to prepare. Everything was going poorly in spite of their preparation.

“We’ve got to do it though,” Sniper said, looking down at the floor between his feet.

They had no choice, it was do or die. Likely, the three of them would die in the process. He imagined the best case scenario would be that Demoman lived to tell their tale. If anything came out of this venture, that would be enough.

Sniper took a breath as he thought about this. He never considered himself as something worthy of saving. He never considered others worthy of saving either though. If anything, he could have classified himself as a selfish, self-centered loner, not unlike their previous Spy.

Not that he was making up for all of that though. He was no hero. This was definitely not an endeavor in which he could have considered himself the first to martyr. When thinking about his chances though, it would be easier for the cyclops to get on than it would for a man who could not function without his lost arm.

Given the third man’s fever, stress could be the killer. And with that said, there was only one solution that Sniper could see. The easy way out would surely be to stay put, but who ever survived that way? When a Spy came knocking, it was time to get fighting or get moving.

Their odds against an army of robots made everything clear. They would have to escape now or die trying. If the Medic pulled through, then there would be ultimate success. However, Sniper could live with the idea that perhaps only Demoman would get out of all of this.

“We leave tomorrow night,” Sniper said firmly, raising his eyes to meet Demoman’s eye.

Demoman looked at him, concern unwavering. He almost looked scared, like he was facing the robots head on already. That was strange, given the man’s usual fearlessness. He danced amongst explosives all day for a living, for crying out loud. How could he suddenly be afraid of death? Granted, they no longer had respawn to fall back on this time around.

“We have to do it,” Sniper insisted, “We’ll give him a day of rest, pack everything to carry, and move out.”

“You know our chances are slim, lad?” Demo asked, hesitantly.

“I know,” he nodded. He left out the additional comment that his own odds were at their worst. “Right now, let’s get some rest. We’ll sleep until the sun is too high, then we’ll get our stuff ready for the night.”

Demoman nodded in agreement, “Move with the shadows of the night.”

“Thinking like a Spy now mate,” Sniper joked.

“Too bad Spy ain’t around to actually help us,” Demoman sighed.

“Oh wait…” Sniper felt a wave of fright overcome him.

“What is it?” Demoman leaned over his knees.

“We still haven’t found that Spybot!” Sniper exclaimed.

“I thought…you were so calm! I thought maybe you’d found and offed it!” Demoman’s face grew pale.

“I didn’t,” Sniper shook his head, “I had forgotten about it.”

“What about…” they both looked at the Medic, who was snoring softly. The fever was driving the poor man insane. He would wake and groan about pain and misery, then fall asleep, unable to stay awake for long periods of time. He would need to be half carried, and would have no capacity to help watch for a Spybot.

“What are we going to do?” Demoman asked in a softer voice.

“We’ll take turns,” he pointed to himself, then to Demo, “Me and you. He can’t stay awake for it. He needs the rest for tomorrow. We’ll rotate for two hours at a time.”

“That’ll have to do,” Demoman sighed and nodded in agreement.

“Good,” Sniper sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.

“I’ll take the first shift,” Demoman offered, “You get some sleep.”

Sniper nodded and laid down. He kept his clothes on, even his boots. There was no telling what could happen. They were on the edge of everything and it was only a matter of time before something struck down on them. He was not going to be caught with no pants or boots, he would be ready to fight with the last of his nails clawing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost wrote one more day with Scout in it. His presence and death were not unimportant though.
> 
> Also, Demoman cares more about others than himself. He's very concerned about losing the last of his friends.


	7. Final Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic passes and Sniper and Demo are left alone. Their only chance is to escape now.  
> They don't even realize that their plans have been spied on the entire time.

Day 11

Sniper was woken by Demoman’s hand shaking him. It was his turn to take the shift again. This time when he opened his eyes, Demoman had a tear in his eye.

Sniper quickly sat up and looked over as Demoman pointed to the Medic. Demoman was breathing heavily and even gasped a bit. He rubbed his sleeve to his eye to wipe the tearfulness away.

“He’s dead, lad,” he said, with a sniffle.

Sniper’s heart dropped to his stomach. It could be chance, but two people dying in their sleep just added to trouble. There could be some sickness. If nothing stopped it, like medicine or something, then Sniper was the next likely candidate.

He took a deep breath and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was earlier than he had planned to be up. No way he was going to be able to sleep though, not with a dead body hanging around. Neither of them could dump it alone and that would take a while to move to the morgue section of the infirmary.

“Let’s get him moved,” he stood up and shifted in his boots. His clothes were a rumbled mess, but a quick shake of them had them feeling comfortable again. “Then let’s get moving. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

“Aye,” Demoman gave him a nod, “I’m with you on that.” His eye was teary again.

 

After putting the Medic up in the morgue and saying their last farewell to both him and Scout, they went to the supplies. They were not going down into the basement again. Who knew what could be down there now? Could be where the Spybot was hiding.

Demoman was very helpful, almost too helpful. In fact, the man seemed hyper focused on everything that Sniper was doing. It got to an annoying state that made the ex-sharp shooter growl.

“I still have an arm, mate! I could punch you in the jaw right now!” he warned in a low tone.

“S-sorry,” Demoman held his hands up defensively.

Sniper took a breath, “I know you’re just helping, but I’m fine. You’re getting worked up. Let’s…focus that energy on travel now.”

“Aye,” Demoman nodded, taking a step back. He shifted the pack on his own back, causing some supplies to clink together.

“Are you ready?” Sniper gave him a stern look.

“Ready,” Demoman gave him a nod.

Sniper took a breath and took the lead. They went down into the basement, which they originally avoided. Down there was a tunnel leading into an old mine. What the mine was doing there beat him, because there did not seem to be anything worth mining out of this ground.

They hurried past their supplies to the door they had blocked so long ago. They did not want anything getting in from the mines, but now they wanted to get out through the mines. So, after some pushing and shoving, they moved everything out of the way and started through the darker abyss that was the mine.

Each of them had a light with them, holding it to brighten their way. Neither of them wanted to be caught in this darkness, so they both carried light. Demo’s light was a direct flashlight, so they could see the path. Sniper’s light was an oil lamp, a lantern that cast light all around them, just for general lighting.

“You think these mines are even safe?” Demo fretted.

“I’m sure they aren’t,” Sniper glanced around warily, “But it’s the best we have. Besides, I doubt the robots would think of this place. We’ll be out by the river when we come out of this tunnel.”

Demoman took a breath, “Thanks lad.”

“For what?” Sniper looked at him, with uncertainty. He had just stated the obvious about the direction they were headed.

“You’re keeping so calm,” Demoman said, “I try my hardest, but I’m pretty damn shaken. I hate this. I miss Heavy and Engie. I miss our friends.”

Sniper was quiet, unsure of how to take this. Demoman started listing each mercenary and some things he remembered about them. He listened at a distance, but slowly it just sort of jerked at his heartstrings. The man was broken up by the time he talked about Scout and Medic. Seeing them dead in the morning seemed to have made things hard for Demoman.

“We’ll…make it out of this fine,” Sniper insisted. He bit his tongue before mentioning that they did not know if the other end of the mines was even open. It could have been closed off since the map they had was made.

“Thanks,” Demoman gave him a small smile before they continued on their way.

“You don’t have to keep saying that,” Sniper insisted.

“Yea, I do,” Demoman insisted, “If we get out of this, we’ll be the only two we have out of all our old friends. If we don’t? I want us to remember each other in the afterlife as good to each other.”

“Good to each other?” Sniper could not smile. He never considered himself good to anybody, considered his selfish loner ways. He never considered it before, but thinking back now, there were too many times when he could have spent more time being nice to or at least bonding with the others.

“You staying calm is helping me feel better about all of this,” Demoman insisted, shifting his pack, “And…I only hope I can help you in some small way.”

Sniper was quiet for a while. For the longest time, the only sounds were the shifting of their clothes and packs, and the clip of their steps. He was usually so wary, but he was deep in thought about all of this.

Suddenly, a shadow darted across his vision, but he was not paying attention. “What was that?!” he exclaimed with fright.

“I couldn’t see it right,” Demo replied.

A sharp object went into Sniper’s side, digging in. He cried out in pain and Demoman turned, grabbing a pan from his pack, forgetting his sword. He whacked metal against metal, sending the creature to the ground.

Sniper stumbled until his hand felt support on the cold stone wall. He shivered, as pain and the chill of the place settled in together. The fear of death suddenly started churning in his belly and he felt the cold grip of panic.

“Sniper!” Demoman came towards him, offering hands and arms for support, “You alright, lad? You hurt?”

“Fucker got me,” Sniper raised his hand to show the blood from the wound.

“Dammit all!” Demoman pulled off his pack and dropped it to the ground with a grunt. He started digging through the pack, until he found the medkit he wanted. “Hold still and I’ll patch you up real quick.”

Sniper’s breath came quick and he felt true terror settling it. This was it, his chances were dwindling to none. Without an arm and his side injured, he felt like a lost cause. Even worse, he was probably going to hold Demoman back now more than ever.

He almost missed the creature rising up as a great shadow. He flinched, causing Demoman to mess up the wrap he was doing around his belly. Sniper was too cold and scared to really feel the hands that were working on him though.

“Stop moving! You’ll mess it up!” Demoman insisted.

“Behind you! The creature! The bot! Whatever it is! Behind you!” Sniper exclaimed.

Demo rose and turned in the same movement, but while he swung the pan, the bot came in. The eyes lit up, a terrible glow they had not seen before. Sniper was not sure why or how they had not heard it or seen it. Suddenly, he was all too aware of the subtle noises and the lights on its person. Especially the eyes, as the eyes just seemed to light up the room.

“You’ll be sorry you came down h-” Demo was cut off by a sudden bullet. It shot him through the head and he went down without a chance to finish his sentence.

He was alone now. He was alone, injured and one armed with the bot. His only chance of anything was to run, so he did. He ran as fast as he could, trying to force himself not to think about the pain he was in. He ignored the ever-growing throb in his side. All the while trying to forget what Demoman had said to him. He tried to forget that he had not had the chance to tell him thanks in return. He did not get to tell Demoman that being there for him, being supportive, kind and even a bit loving was more than Sniper even deserved.

A rock caught his toe and he tripped, falling face first to the ground. The painful split in his lip throbbed before he could even pull himself off of the ground. He shouldered the pack off of his body, to lighten the load on his torso. He grabbed the machete though. If he had to face the bot again, he would do it with one arm equipped. He abandoned the lantern there, certain that it would only help it find him, even if it hurt his chances of finding his way around.

He slowed down though, trying to quiet his breathing. If he moved quietly from now on, he might make it out by simply sneaking. He might even creep up on the creature, using its lights to his own advantage.

 

It must have been hours. He was alone, cold and in pain. It was getting to him. It made him weary, so he sat down to have a rest. He could not keep going on like this anyways.

“I knew I’d die,” he whispered to himself, “But why like this.”

Footsteps announced the robot’s coming. He raised his head to look at it, as it came around a corner. It had been following close behind him all along. He never lost it. He never quite got away from it. That was strange, considering it had a gun loaded to use on him.

“Do your worst,” he growled at the bot.

The Spy lifted the lantern it had picked up, turning up the oil so that the light was bright again. He could see the sheen of its metal and the lithe shape of its body. It was shaking its head at him, and made a tut tutting sound. He did not remember Spybots making a tut tutting sound. They only had certain prerecorded audio from Spy himself.

“I can end this quickly,” the Spybot pulled out its revolver, “If you sit still.”

“I said do your worst!” he held tight to the machete as he forced himself to his feet. He ignored the pain that tore into him as he struggled. His legs were shaking though and wanted to give up and send him to an unconscious hell. “Not shoot like a bloody coward! Fight me like a man! You wouldn’t know how that is though…would you?”

The Spy’s head tilted slightly as it holstered the revolver. That was a surprise. Spybots of all the bots did not know pride nor humiliation. Fear yes, but pride was not something in a bot. They were not programmed to be goaded easily.

“I’m afraid I know fighting like a man all too well,” the Spybot replied.

Sniper flinched. He never remembered Spy saying anything like that. He certainly did not remember any Spybot saying anything like that. Of all the taunting he had done, he had never once managed to get a Spybot to be anything more than confused by the taunt.

“Come then,” the Spybot pulled out a dagger and set the lantern aside so they would have light in their small battle area, “Let’s fight.”

The Sniper took a deep breath and went straight in. It was a flimsy move, but he had no other choice if he wanted to fight. He was off balanced with one arm missing, and he had no time to wait for the Spybot to give him an opening. He had to off the thing now.

“Foolish,” the Spybot muttered, as it grabbed his arm. It twisted the arm and sent him off balance.

He lost the machete, as it flew across the cavern and away from where he rolled. He was not giving up yet though. He got to his feet and got into a defensive stance. He prepared to deflect a dagger’s strikes, not at all prepared for how much it would no doubt hurt.

“You’re fighting a losing battle here,” the Spybot insisted.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t fight. I’m not a coward!” he growled.

“Says the bot who ran,” the Spybot noted.

Bot? he was taken aback a bit. He figured that perhaps the bot thought of humans the way it thought of other bots. Therefore, it thought of bots as bots and people as bots, so everybody was bots. It made well enough sense to his addled mind.

“I’m injured,” he growled, “My disadvantage lends me a reason to be running.”

“Touché,” the Spybot shrugged, before lunging at him.

He tried to move out of the way, but ended up with the dagger in his other side. He did manage to land a hit though, slamming up into the thing’s lower ribs. He smiled as he felt the familiar crackle of bones that leant itself to a kind of pain that only true fighters knew.

He lost his smile when he thought about it. Ribs? Flesh? That was not the kind of thing a robot had. What was he looking at?

He stumbled away as it quickly drew its blade back. He fell, bleeding and in pain. He might as well be finished off now anyways.

“What are you?” he panted. If nothing else was answered for him, let that be the last thing he learned before his final death.

“I’m human,” it said, stepping towards him. It crouched to his level and grabbed his wrist when he tried to punch its face. It pinned his arm to the wall and switched the dagger out for a syringe and needle.

“No you’re not,” he growled, “You’re a bloody robot! Whatever Grey’s been telling you, it’s a lie!”

“Is it?” the Spybot asked, as it stabbed the needle into his temple.

The needle stung at first, piercing into the side of his head. Then there was a fuzzy feeling and it was like he had gone a little numb. His vision went fuzzy, then blurry. By the time it cleared up in two minutes, he was not sure what he was looking at.

He blinked a few times and focused his sights on the Spybot. It was not a Spybot anymore. It was a human, a Spy with real flesh and real eyes staring back at him. In his hand was not a needle but a screwdriver. He looked like a devil armed to take him to hell though.

“Foolish bot,” the Spy sighed, “I suppose this was just another of Grey’s accidents. He really should keep up with you all better. I guess you can’t be blamed for that foolishness either. It’s not really your fault. It’s just how you were programed.”

The Spy let go and stepped away. He was wiping black oil from his suit with a handkerchief, desperate to save his suit. He seemed a little frustrated by it and eventually gave up.

Sniper looked down at himself. His hand was made of metal, with hinges instead of knuckles. His torso was a sheen metal, with a shape that mimicked the torso he remembered having. His sides were broken open and leaking of oil fluids. Some small sparks came jumping out of one side, with a bit of broken wires showing.

“Realization,” the Spy noted, “You’re not what you thought you were.”

“I’m…” Sniper looked back up at the Spy, who was eyeing him thoughtfully. The elegant man before him stood with such a prideful stance.

“Pity…everything was going well. You were even going off the typical programming. Impressive AI, I must say. Most of you changed vastly from the personalities you were shaped after. You the least, but still…” the Spy paused as he looked at the screwdriver, “Oh well. Better get your head back to base. Engineer will want to have a look at _all_ of them.”

“All of them?” Sniper felt like his eyes were filling with tears, but it did not seem that way with his vision.

“Yes,” the Spy nodded, “You’re all coming with me. Engineer will decide what to do with you. Now sit still and I’ll make this quick.”

“You shot Demo in the head,” Sniper felt stunned, thinking back to the sight of the man falling with blood spewing from his wound.

“Yes well…some sacrifices were made in split moment decisions,” the Spy admitted, “I’ll bring the remains to the Engineer anyways.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Sniper shook his head, “I feel pain! I know pain! Demo knows pain! Demo was nice…and kind…and…no Demobot is like Demo! Medic had a fever! Scout had a mental breakdown! You can’t explain that with metal and wires!”

“All programming,” the Spy replied, “Just like yours.” He returned the screwdriver to Sniper’s head and darkness overtook his mind. He felt like he was asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have enjoyed this endeavor. I hope you have too!  
> I'd love to hear which character was your favorite!
> 
> Awkward moment when you realize you forgot to put the number of total chapters so the thing thinks it's not finished.


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